CHAPTER XXIV A MIDNIGHT VISITOR

Like a man in a dream, I walked with unsteady footsteps down the avenue, through the shrubbery, and across the park to the cottage. I had forgotten my latch-key, and the servant who answered my ring welcomed me with a little cry of relief.

"John was just a-coming up to the house for you, sir," she exclaimed, shutting the door again. "There's a strange woman wants to see you most particular. She's been here more than an hour, a-fretting ever so because you wasn't here."

"Where is she?" I asked.

"In your study, sir. I see'd as there was nothink about as she could lay 'er 'ands on before I let her in."

I had no doubt but that it was the wife of one of the tenants on the estate, though why she should choose such a strange time for her visit I could not imagine. But when I walked into the study I saw at once that she was a stranger to me. And yet, no. I had seen her face before somewhere.

She rose nervously when I entered, and pulled her shawl closer around her.

"You'll excuse the liberty I've taken in coming, sir," she began, hurriedly. "I 'a come to do yer a service. You doan't seem to recollect me. I'm John Hilton's wife; him as you comed to see t'other week."

I recognised her at once, and became more interested.

"You see, sir, it's like this," she went on. "My Jack, he's had one o' his drinking fits on, and he's always mortal mischievous after one of 'em. He seems to 'a got a powerful sort o' a grudge agin' you, and there's that piece o' paper as you wrote out, and he put 'is name to. He says as 'ow he might get lagged for that if you showed it."

"Well, has he sent you to try and get it away again?" I asked.

"Not he! If he know'd as I'd come 'ere at all he'd half kill me."

"Well, what is it, then?" I asked.

"Well, it's just like this," she answered, slowly; "he's a-coming himself to try and get it back agin."

"Indeed! And when may I expect him?" I inquired, becoming suddenly interested.

"To-night."

I leaned back in my chair, and laughed dryly. The woman must be mad.

"'Tain't no laughing matter, master," she said, sullenly. "You'd 'a laughed t'other side o' your mouth, I can tell 'e, if I hadn' 'a chosen ter come and tell 'e. He ain't a-coming to ask you for it. He's a-coming to take it, and to pay yer back something as yer gave 'im at our cottage—him and a mate."

I began to see what it all meant now, and to understand why the woman had come.

"And you've come here to put me on my guard, is that it?" I remarked.

"Yes. Yer gave me money when I was starving, and I felt sort 'er grateful. And when I 'eard them two blackguards a-planning how they'd settle you I thought as they just shouldn't. If you puts a bullet in that 'long Jem,' which is my man's pal, I shall thank yer for it. Jack's bad enough, specially when he's just getting round from a spell o' drinking, which he is now; but he's a sight worse. Cuss him. He's always a-leading my Jack into something."

"What time are they coming?" I asked, thoughtfully.

"I 'eerd 'em say as they'd meet at Cop't Oak, which is a mile from here, as soon as it were dark, and hide until you was all a-gone to bed. I'm mortal afeard of their seeing me, although I shall go 'ome t'other way."

I pressed her to stay at the cottage for the night, but she stubbornly refused. Her Jack would kill her if he found out that she had been here, she declared. But before she went I made her drink a glass of wine, and fill her pockets with the bread and food which I had ordered in.

This promised to be an exciting night for me altogether, I thought, as I drew out my revolver from the cupboard and carefully loaded it. I was not inclined altogether to believe or altogether to disbelieve this woman's story, but at any rate there was no harm in being prepared. If I had gone to bed, there would have been little sleep for me with my head still throbbing with the vivid recollection of that terrible scene in the picture gallery. I dared not think of it, I dared not let my thoughts dwell for an instant on the inevitable consequences of what had happened. The excitement of what might shortly take place kept me from the full sickening realisation of the change which that evening's events must make in my life, but underneath it all there was a dull aching pain in my heart, for had I not lost Maud?

Presently Marian and Mr. Holdern arrived. I had forgotten their very existence, and directly the latter had taken his leave, Marian was full of eager, agitated questions. Why had I left so suddenly? Had I quarrelled with Sir Francis Devereux? What did it all mean? Maud had gone to her room with white face and looking like a ghost, and Lady Olive had not again entered the dancing-room. Sir Francis had apologised to his guests with the agitation of one who had received a great shock, and Rupert Devereux none of them had seen again; and I was mixed up in it. What did it all mean?

She threw herself into my arms, and when I saw the gathering tears in her soft grey eyes, and her anxious, troubled look, I shrunk from the task before me.

"Not now, Marian; I will tell you to-morrow; wait until then," I begged. But she would not wait.

Then, with a great effort, I braced myself up, and told her everything. She listened with ever-growing astonishment, and when I had finished she slipped down from my knee and sank upon the hearthrug.

"Poor papa!" she sobbed. "No wonder you hate that Rupert! Beast! Oh, Hugh, Hugh, why could you not tell me before? I ought to have known," she added, reproachfully.

"It could have done no good," I answered.

A wave of sudden anxiety passed across her face.

"Oh, Hugh!" she sobbed. "Char—— Mr. Hold——"

"Mr. Holdern knows all about it," I interrupted. "I thought it right to tell him when he asked me for you."

A great relief brightened her face, and she smiled through her tears. Even a woman is selfish when she is in love.

"I am glad he knows," she whispered, looking into the fire. "How strange it all seems! Why our name is Devereux; you will be Sir Hugh Devereux. Why, Hugh, Devereux Court will be yours some day!"

"Never!" I answered, firmly; "until Sir Francis asks my father's pardon, and receives him as a son, I shall never take the name of Devereux or enter the Court. I have sworn it, Marian."

"And it was noble of you to swear it, Hugh," she whispered, coming over and kissing me. "They say truth always comes out some time or other. Perhaps this will all come right some day."

"For our father's sake, pray that it may do, Marian dear," I answered, gravely. "And now run along to bed, I have some writing to do."

She lingered by my side.

"Hugh, what are you going to do now? You will leave here, I suppose?"

"I must, Marian. Unless Sir Francis desires otherwise, I shall remain here until he has found some one else to take my place, though it will be as Hugh Arbuthnot, his agent, only, and into Devereux Court I will not go again. It will be well for Rupert Devereux, too, that he keeps out of my way," I added to myself. "When does Mr. Holdern want to marry you, Marian?" I asked her suddenly, changing the subject.

She blushed up to her eyes, and looked at me half pleased, half reproachfully.

"Hugh! How could you ask me like that? I—I don't quite know."

"Because you'll have to go away with me, you know," I continued. "I can't leave you behind."

She looked serious enough now.

"Of course you can't, Hugh. I don't think I ought to leave you at all. You'll be alone if I do, with no one to look after you."

I pretended to look serious, as though considering the matter, but her piteous expression and quivering lips were irresistible, and I broke into a reassuring laugh.

"Not I, Marian! It is the best thing that could possibly have happened. When I have no longer you to look after I shall go abroad, wherever our father is, and share his lot. Country life is beginning to get wearisome to me. I was meant to be a soldier, I think. Now, Marian, you must really go to bed. I want to be alone."

It was past twelve, and I was beginning to get anxious. But she still lingered for a moment.

"Hugh, I had almost forgotten, I have something for you, and a message."

I bent over my desk, lest she should see the light which sprung into my face. I did not wish even Marian to know my secret.

"What is it?" I asked. "Be quick."

"Why, she came to me like I've never seen her before, as lifeless and sorrowful as anything, and said—'Tell your brother that I think he is behaving nobly, and that I hope we shall always be friends.'"

"She said that!" I exclaimed, starting round, "Maud said that!"

My sister looked at me amazed.

"Maud! I didn't say anything about Maud! She didn't even speak to me. It was Lady Olive, and she sent you this."

I stretched out my hand for the gold-topped cut-glass little smelling-salts, which Marian was holding out for me and laid it down before me. Disappointed though I was, it was a kindly act of Lady Olive's, and I was just in that mood when a man appreciates such a one. For a moment or two I felt very tenderly towards Lady Olive; for, reckless little flirt though she was, she was generous and warm-hearted, or she would never have done this.

"It is very kind of her," I said, huskily. "Good-night, Marian!"

"Good-night, Hughie. Don't sit up late, dear, and don't fret. It makes me feel so selfish, Hugh, to think that I can't help being happy because—because of Charlie, but I can't help it. I do love him so, and he is so good to me."

Then at last she went, and I was left alone. First of all I put a heavy shade upon the lamp and placed it so that no one could possibly see it from outside. Then I finished loading my revolver, and put a life-preserver in my breast pocket. Going out on tip-toe into the hall, I opened the passage door, and also left my own wide open, so that if any one should attempt to enter the house from any room I must hear them. This seemed to me to be all that I could do, and drawing my easy chair into the corner of the room which faced both door and windows, I sat down and waited patiently with my revolver on my knee.

At first the time did not seem long. I had come to a crisis in my life, and there was much for me to think about. In the twenties, however dark and doubtful the future may be, there is always a certain fascination connected with it—possibilities, however remote, which the sanguine spirit of youth loves to peer into and investigate. And so I sat and thought, and considered, and longed, without ever getting sleepy, or feeling the spell of weariness.

Two o'clock struck, and of a sudden a curious change came over me. I became so violently restless that I could sit no longer in my chair. Sober-minded people may scoff at such a statement, but I declare that some irresistible impulse compelled me to go to the nearest window and look cautiously out.

The window was not one of the front ones, but was one which looked sideways over a strip of garden, a thick privet hedge, into a dark black fir plantation, through which ran a private pathway into the gardens of the Court. At first I could see nothing; then suddenly the blood died out from my cheeks, even from my lips, and I stood transfixed, rooted to the spot—my limbs numbed and helpless as though under the spell of some hideous nightmare.

What my eyes looked upon my reason refused to credit. Turning from the hand-gate of the plantation, without a hat, and with a wealth of golden hair streaming down upon a swan's-down cloak, was—Maud! It was impossible—it was ridiculous—it was beyond all credence. And yet my straining, riveted eyes watched her walk slowly, with her usual stately, even tread, down the grass-grown path between the plantation and the hedge of the cottage garden, and disappear from sight.

Though an earthquake had yawned at my feet I could not have moved. Nothing but sound can break up such a spell as this sudden shock had laid upon me. And the sound came, for suddenly there broke upon the stillness of the night such a cry as I had never heard before—the thrilling, agonised shriek of a woman in mortal fear.